Classic Poem

On yonder taut aerial wire,
A bridge where thought is speeding,
A merry little sparrow-choir
Sits careless and unheeding.

They chirp through life as in a dream,
They sport there, never knowing
Of that unbroken, silent stream
That through the wire is flowing.

Though thought goes by in endless round,
The sparrows no more hear it
Than we may catch the whispered sound
From the dim World of Spirit.

Our questions find no sure reply,
Though deep and wondrous answers
To all we ask are flitting by
Like waves of airy dancers.

Scarce in our clay-dim nature rings
An echo of their brooding,
When softly murmur the twin strings
Called Memory and Foreboding.